


Blue Skies

by WriterJC



Category: White Collar
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterJC/pseuds/WriterJC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's skills are requested by the Bureau for an undercover op. Things go a little wrong. Peter goes a little crazy. Neal ... is Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Blue Skies

Blue Skies

 _The image flashed fully formed in his mind, separate from the chaotic, frightening world that he'd woken into. As with his original viewing, it drew him in, absorbed him, providing a welcome and needed reprieve when it all threatened to overwhelm him._

It was days like this, cases like this, that sent Peter's blood pressure through the roof. Neal's effectiveness had gotten around the Bureau, and it had become less and less unusual for his assistance to be requested by other departments. But this case was different. In this case, Neal wasn't merely 'consulting', he was going undercover in a potentially dangerous situation with little immediate back up.

So Peter did what he usually did in these situations. First he fumed, and then he debated, and when that didn't work, he planned for every contingency that he could think of and then half a dozen more. Which was why he had spent the last fifteen minutes making sure that the white body armor Neal wore beneath his dress shirt was properly secured.

"How do I look?" Neal straightened the conservative gray suit jacket and adjusted his tie. He was sporting his trademark confident grin; as if he knew that he was picture perfect.

Normally Peter admired Neal's confidence. Today it troubled him. Picture perfect didn't mean invincible.

"How does it feel?" Peter asked, studying the lines of the suit. If their mark found out that Neal was wearing a vest, his cover was as good as blown.

"A little tight." Neal lifted his arms slightly. "But doable."

Peter grunted. "All you're cleared to _do_ is get in there, convince them that you have some of Stanley's evidence that you're willing to make a deal for, and get out." He shoved a silver stylized tie bar toward the other man. "Put this on."

Neal gave Peter a questioning look that didn't only have to do with the tie bar. "Something wrong with the one I'm wearing?"

"Yeah. It's not wired for sound and GPS tracking to within 1.5 square meters." Peter drew the handheld locator that tracked the smaller unit from an inner pocket. A green dot obediently flashed Neal's position.

"Really?" Neal's brows lifted as he studied the tie clip before exchanging it with the one he was wearing. "I'm impressed, and surprised that a government agency would even put a GPS into one of these."

"It's new."

"Oh? In my honor?" Neal looked pleased with himself, then taking a closer look at the design, "Very nice. Good to know I've brought some classic style to the FBI."

Peter was too distracted by all the things that could go wrong to play the game. "Just make sure you have it on at all times until this is done," he muttered as he gestured the tech from the Marshal Service over.

Neal dropped his happy façade as he lifted his leg onto the van's bumper. The look he shot Peter while the technician worked was telling.

The procedure was over in seconds. The tech placed the unlatched, deactivated device in Peter's hand. "It will reactivate automatically once you close the connection and call in."

"Thanks." Peter knew the drill.

"I'm sure it'll be back on before dinner." Neal spoke in a carefully neutral tone as the Marshal headed off.

"It better be," Peter allowed the words to slip out. He couldn't think of a single scenario wherein Neal being out of the anklet eight hours later was a good thing. This operation should take an hour or two at best.

"What? You think I'm going to try to run? Today? After everything?" Neal looked genuinely hurt.

Peter studied him for a long moment. Trust was a delicate issue between the two of them, and trust was the word Neal hadn't explicitly stated. Bottom line, Peter had learned to trust Neal to be Neal.

Peter blew out a breath and leveled with his friend. "I don't think you're going to run. It's just … there is something about this entire situation that bugs me."

"Aside from the fact that this isn't your operation, what's the problem?" Neal asked.

Peter threw him a look. "You make me sound like some kind of control freak."

Neal's expression spoke more loudly than words.

"Fine." Peter would let that one slide. "I think it was thrown together too quickly with too little information."

"You don't think this is the right move," Neal said, as usual seeming to understand almost immediately.

"No, I don't. They haven't even gotten all of the results back from the Stanley autopsy." Jake Stanley, a moderately successful con artist himself, had offered the FBI information against Apex Pharmaceutical Distributors a week earlier. Peter had a strong suspicion that it was in exchange for clemency on some other charge. The day before he was due to meet with Agent Paul Bridges and his team, Stanley had died in what appeared to be a routine automobile accident. The case against Apex – which Bridges had been trying to build for the better part of a year – would be a bust unless Bridges could come up with something more. Enter Neal Caffrey.

"You're the one who said that the FBI doesn't believe in coincidences," Neal reminded Peter.

"Yeah, I did. But it seems in this case, my team is taking all of the risks to prove that Stanley's death wasn't a coincidence and to give Bridges something to go on besides rumor and innuendo."

"Well, on the plus side, I'm wired and GPS tracked to within 1.5 meters. You'll hear every word," Neal gestured toward the tie clip. "And you'll have Jones, Diana and the rest of the surveillance gang to keep you company in the van."

"Lucky me."

"Hey, can I pick the code word?" Neal asked, sudden excitement lighting his features. Obviously this was all still just a game to the younger man.

Peter chuckled and shook his head. Sometimes it was pointless to try to stifle Neal's enthusiasm. "Sure. Pick something good. Something subtle."

Neal shot him a look. "I can do subtle."

"Prove it. What have you got?"

Neal thought for a moment longer, then, "Blue."

"Code blue?" Peter asked. "That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence."

"Peter. I'm touched by all the worry. As if the bullet proof vest wasn't convincing enough. By the way, do I get to keep this when the operation is over?"

"No," Peter responded without hesitation, and then looked pointedly toward his watch. "Isn't it time for you to be on your way. It's getting pretty close to show time."

"That it is." With a thousand megawatt smile, Neal waved toward the approaching Diana and Jones, then headed toward the black sports coupe that had been requisitioned for this operation. Peter watched as he fired up the engine, its throaty tones echoing along the back of the abandoned warehouse area. The car set off with the squeal of tires against asphalt.

-oOo-

 _He'd always thought Monet's Water Lilies curiously breathtaking. The images on canvas, a seeming endless field of shimmering blue, stuck with him as the waters closed in over his head._

 _There was a finality to it as sound became muted, as an icy chill seeped its way inexorably through his clothing, climbing up a pant leg, up a sleeve, tickling across his scalp. And yet it was all so beautiful. His eyes widened even against the chlorinated burn as he tried to take it all in._

 _A warning jarred distantly, nibbling at the edge of his consciousness. It told him to struggle. But Monet was so lovely; he didn't want to leave it. There was so much he could learn from this side beneath the water lilies …._

-oOo-

"It's about time," Peter sighed, holding one side of the head phone to his ear. After twenty minutes of 'do we or don't we,' Neal had finally hit on something that convinced Bart Stinson, Apex's CFO, to lead him into a back office where they could speak more freely. No doubt, away from the prying eyes and ears of the receptionist and whomever else decided to wander by.

Peter formed an image of the balding, nervous slip of a man in his mind. At 5'6" and likely armed with little more than a Blackberry, he hardly seemed threatening. But looks could be deceiving. He'd just invited Neal to have a seat and restate his request.

Neal's confident voice sounded across the connection. "Jake and I were very good friends. We talked about pretty much everything. He wouldn't want me to miss out on this opportunity."

"You mentioned that name earlier – I'm not sure I know a Jake Stanley." Stinson sounded downright twitchy. Peter felt sure that Neal was getting somewhere.

"Oh, of course you remember my friend Jake. He performed an inspection of several of your warehouses a few weeks ago. He happened to stumble upon some … irregularities, I believe he told me. He also told me you were willing to be cooperative with him. You know, as in the 'you scratch my back; I scratch yours by keeping things just between the two of us' kind of cooperative. I was his back up plan if things went wrong. You can now consider me the principle in this venture."

"I see." Stinson's tone grew icier. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm glad you asked," Neal replied. "I've already got a figure in mind. I'm sure considering what you stand to gain by continued operations, you'll see this as a worthwhile investment."

Peter fought to hold back a half-grin. He could already picture the disarming smile that Neal would focus on Stinson as he handed the slip of white paper across the desk. It was the one that made people want to believe what he was saying and buy whatever he was selling. All Stinson had to do was bite.

"Listen, Mr. Halden –

"Please, call me Nick," Neal insisted.

"Fine. Nick, I'm not the guy you need to talk to. I wouldn't know anything about something like this."

Peter frowned. He needed the man to offer to pay the bribe, otherwise this was pointless.

"Who should I speak with?" Neal asked with just the right amount of good-natured willingness.

Peter felt his hopes sinking. It was too much to ask that this be easy. No way was Stinson going to turn over a name.

"That would be me, Mr. Halden." Another, deeper, voice joined the conversation, startling Peter into sharper alertness. It wasn't a voice he recognized. He could tell by Neal's delayed response that he had been surprised by the man's arrival as well. Where had he come from?

He waved and gestured toward Diana as he strained to catch all of Neal's response. She obviously understood his sign language because she set down her headsets and reached for the stack of blue prints on the side table.

"Oh, I didn't hear you come in from back there." Neal quickly covered his surprise. Peter heard the rustle of clothing as Neal stood. "I'm Nick Halden, and you are?"

"Attaboy, Neal." Peter inwardly cheered. He leaned slightly forward, waiting for the name so he could have Jones run it. The more information they could gather on this dangerous fishing expedition the better.

"He must have come through one of the other offices," Diana said. She splayed the layout of the front offices on the table directly in front of Peter, a neatly rounded fingernail pin pointed the central corridor that connected the executive offices, allowing them to enter and exit the building without having to go through reception.

Which meant that Stinson had tipped the other man off somehow as to what Neal was up to. That made Peter even more nervous.

Jones and Diana were watching him, waiting to see how he wanted to play this. Neal hadn't said the word blue, yet. "Let's let it ride," he told them.

"Oh, I'm responsible for various aspects of the business, one of which is security," Deep Voice said. "You can call me … Steve."

An alarm went off in Peter's head. He didn't like this at all.

"There's no need for security," Neal was saying, his voice smooth and confident. "I had a business proposition for Mr. Stinson here. I don't imagine I have to re-explain it to you."

Steve's chuckle grated along Peter's spine. But Neal hadn't said the word, and he had talked his way out of shakier situations. Worse case scenario, they could let things unfold, then he could go in and flash his badge to get Neal out of trouble. Of course, their investigation would be blown.

"No, Nick, you don't." Steve emphasized Neal's alias's first name, confirming that he had been listening in on the earlier conversation. "You see, it's my responsibility to ensure the safety and security of my client on many levels."

"I'm sure the company is lucky to have you, Steve," Neal replied.

Peter fought not to grit his teeth. Every investigative instinct within him screamed that 'Steve' was not to be trusted. Sight unseen, he felt deeply that this man was dangerous. Neal had to see that as well.

"I don't believe in luck, Nick," Steve said, then allowed the silence to stretch.

Neal seemed to muse for a moment. "I'd imagine that you're aware of all of the details. I'm sure you and Mr. Stinson may want to discuss this in private. You have my contact information. I'll just see myself out."

Something within Peter unclenched just a little.

"No need to leave so quickly, Nick. I have a few additional questions. There was a suggestion that you are in possession of some information that makes my client … shall we say, vulnerable? I need to know exactly what you know. I'm sure you understand."

Peter didn't need to hear anything else. "Okay. That's it." Peter removed his earphone and picked up the radio and contacted the entry team, telling them to move in, but stand by for instructions once they arrived. The five man armed team were in the black SUV parked on the other side of the surveillance van. He watched them head out on the video monitor.

"I can't reveal my sources," Neal was saying when Peter put the headset back up to his ear. There was the sound of movement as Neal continued to speak and then the sound of a door opening. "I'm sure we'll be in touch."

"Oh. Hello." There was surprise, and more than a hint of worry in Neal's tone. "Let me guess. You're with security, too. Nothing but blue skies around here."

"Dammit, Neal!" Peter exclaimed, then pointed toward Jones. "Drive. Get us to Apex right now. Pull up in front of the building." As Jones set off, Peter turned to Diana. "Call Apex reception, tell them you're Nick Halden's personal secretary, anything, just try to get him on the phone." Peter knew it was a long shot, but he was willing to try anything that might distract the men in that room.

"On it, boss."

Peter glanced down at his watch. They were a couple of minutes behind the entry team, and probably four minutes from reaching Neal. "We need to go faster!" he yelled up to Jones as he flipped Neal's audio to the van's speaker system.

"Doing my best!" Jones replied. Considering the bumpiness of the ride, Peter didn't think he was sticking only to the roadways to reach their destination.

Peter grabbed onto the table's edge, glad it was bolted to the floor as he requested an ETA from the entry team. He totally missed their response as Neal's next words registered on his brain.

"I really don't like needles." The words were light; Neal's tone was not.

"Then, you really won't like this," Steve said. "When I need information, this is how I get it."

"Truth serum?" Neal asked.

"Oh, this is much more fun than truth serum. It's got a side of a little something that I'll keep to myself that makes you more malleable. But, I should tell you about the steps. I inject you with this needle, then I ask you questions, and you answer directly and completely. If you don't answer in this manner, we go to the next steps."

"Which are?"

"Well, that's where this other needle comes in. Once I inject with this second needle, you have a limited amount of time to seek medical help. You see, it starts with a tingling at first, and then the tingle will become a burning, and the burning will become outright pain. The pain, in time, will lead to paralysis, followed pretty closely by death."

"Wow. That really sounds like a win-win for me. Why not just part as friends and go from there? Blue skies for everyone."

Steve actually laughed. "I like you, Nick. You have a sense of humor; but, no. My little 'truth serum' as you call it has a nice little side effect of causing some short term memory loss. You won't remember any of this."

"We should talk about it a little more first," Neal said, and Peter knew he was trying to buy some time. "Maybe you can explain in greater detail how the contents work? I'm personally fascinated by those types of details, and I have a lot of allergies, and, you never kn –

… aah!"

Peter winced, almost feeling the phantom pain of having a hypodermic needle jabbed into his own body. "Jones!" he yelled. There was no verbal response, but the van's engines whined as he accelerated.

"Sorry to have to do that so suddenly to you. But often, that's the best." Steve's voice sounded again.

"I sure hope I'm not allergic," Neal grumbled. "I'd really like to see blue skies again. Really soon. That's my favorite color, you know. Blue. Pretty much any shade of blue, really."

-oOo-

 _He looked upward through the water, searching for the answers. There was a face, distorted by the rippling of the chlorinated water. It was at that moment that he realized that he had been holding his breath; it was at that moment that he forgot he wasn't supposed to breathe._

-oOo-

Diana, like the professional she was, had given up arguing with the receptionist and was calling for EMTs to Apex's address.

Peter would have commended her, but the entry team announced that they had arrived and were moving into position. "Make entry," he ordered, then explained in detail the next steps that he wanted them to take. They didn't have enough manpower to cover all of the entrances and exits of Apex's facility. He would have to make the best of what he had. Everything could go so very wrong in the space of a moment.

"Tell me where Jake hid the files?" Steve asked, not for the first time. The edge of impatience in his voice had been steadily growing.

"Man, I told you, I don't know." Neal's voice was slurred and carried a touch of drowsy humor. It was so reminiscent of his demeanor at the Howser clinic that Peter wondered just what Neal had been given – in both instances.

"Of course you do," Steve insisted. "Who's Lily?"

"Lily?" Neal asked.

"Run that name," Peter pointed to one of the techs. "See if there's any connection with Jake Stanley."

"Jake told us he hid the file in the lilies. We checked his apartment. Guess what, Nick – no lilies."

Neal snickered.

"What's so funny?" Steve demanded.

"Nick's a great guy," Neal said.

"Don't Neal …." Peter pleaded aloud. "Don't give up your cover."

"It's the drugs." Diana defended him. "He won't be able to help it."

Peter didn't respond. This was Neal, and he could still hope.

"If you don't have the files, why are you here?" Steve asked next. "You don't have anything of value."

"Well, you see, Steve," Neal said, loopily, "I'm a conman, and I'm here because Peter caught me. And … um what was the last question? Oh, what do I have of value? It's not about money, Steve, it's about people, and –

"Who is Peter?" Steve cut him off.

Peter held his breath, transfixed, as he waited for the answer. The entry team wasn't ready yet.

"Peter's my partner," Neal replied, and Peter could almost visualize the goofy expression that matched the tone. It was a look of openness and innocence, the things Neal typically hid beneath his cultured façade. "He's my friend, too," Neal added. "I think, maybe someday, he'll really trust me."

Peter winced.

"Does Peter have the files?" Steve latched on to the statement.

"Nope. Definitely not," Neal slurred. "Peter absolutely does not have the files."

Steve sighed heavily. "We don't have a lot of time here, so there's a problem. You don't know where Jake hid the files he stole from us. You don't know who or where or what Lily is. Exactly why do I need you, Nick?"

Neal snickered again. "Not Nick."

 _Oh Crap._ Peter felt himself go cold all over.

"What?" Steve asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"What?" Neal asked blearily in return.

"Okay, we're going to have to do this the hard way. Who are you? Really?" Steve's voice, though still soft, had a stillness that bespoke danger. Peter would have yelled for Jones to go even faster, but he couldn't break himself away from the audio.

"No! No! Neal. Neal doesn't like guns. Peter! Peter?" Neal began to yell for help.

"Stop it!" Steve ground the words out in a stage whisper.

"Peter?" Neal wasn't having it. It appeared that even in his drugged state, he had figured out that he was in deep trouble. And it was killing Peter that he was stuck in the van unable to do a thing.

The next sounds to come across the speakers brought Peter up out of his seat. Neal's words were harshly cut off by the sound of something hard striking flesh, followed immediately by the sickening sound of something slamming against the floor.

The sound meter dropped to zero as they lost the audio.

-oOo-

 _As the sharp invasion of water entered his sinuses and invaded his lungs, his body convulsed with shock. But it wasn't enough to prompt lethargic, oxygen-deprived limbs into action. He wasn't even coherent enough to remember how it all went wrong._

-oOo-

Finally Jones brought the van to a rocking halt outside of the sprawling Apex facility. Peter didn't hesitate; he was out of the van and running for the building. The entry team had done their job in clearing away the civilians from the outer reception area.

They had been quietly moved to an area on the far side of the building by two members of the team. Barely pausing, Peter ducked down the corridor that would lead to the executive offices. Two more members of the entry team stood in the secondary reception space, on either side of the door which led to Stinson's office. The phone at the desk there was ringing in subdued tones.

As Peter approached, not bothering to keep quiet, Stinson's office door was yanked open. "Carole! Why aren't –." The man stopped short, his eyes widened in a brief flash of fear. Peter didn't hesitate; he got right into his personal space, forcing him back into the office.

Another man, seated in a chair before Stinson's desk, shot to his feet. He was tall, broad shouldered with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded in a now familiar, deep voice.

Peter raised his badge, making very sure Steve could see it in extreme close up. "I'm Peter. Special Agent, Peter Burke, FBI. And the both of you are under arrest."

He moved away as Diana and Jones moved in with hand cuffs. He scanned the rest of the office, examining the other rooms in search of Neal. He was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?" he demanded of Steve.

Steve merely sneered. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Peter removed the handheld tracking monitor from his pocket, relieved to see the flashing green location indicator. It was moving quickly away from Apex. He gave Steve a humorless grin. "There goes your opportunity to get me to tell the US Attorney that you were cooperative."

"These were in his pockets," Jones handed over an evidence bag containing two hypodermics. One was empty, the other was not.

Peter nodded. "Jones you're with me." They set off out of the building and headed for the surveillance van.

-oOo-

 _Had he breath or strength, he would have called out for help. But as the dark spots appeared within his panicked vision, he could only make a mental cry to the cosmos._ " _Peter. Please …."_

-oOo-

"It looks like he's stopped around here," Peter said. The green light flashed in place. He looked up and around. They had pulled into the parking lot of a Marriot hotel. The signal appeared to be coming from farther ahead. "Go around to the back of the building," he ordered.

Jones steered the van into one of the mostly empty parking spaces along the back rear lot. The black sports coupe that Neal had driven away from the dock was parked in the farthest parking spot.

With a significant look toward Jones, Peter climbed out of the van. "Get Diana on the phone," he said. "Tell her to send the ambulance here."

Jones nodded, and did as he was asked. Peter divided his attention between the GPS indicator and the way ahead of them. As they drew nearer to the extreme rear of the hotel, a loud splash sounded.

He frowned thoughtfully, but continued forward, allowing the signal to lead them. As they rounded the back of the hotel, they came face to face with a very tall, bulky man whose demeanor screamed 'thug'.

The man locked eyes with Peter and he knew, he just knew that this man had something to do with Neal's disappearance from Apex. He drew his weapon almost without thought. "Freeze! FBI!"

The man still looked like he wanted to run, but two guns on him seemed to change his mind. Peter looked beyond the man, in search of Neal, then remembered the sound he'd heard. A splash.

His heart dropped to his toes. _Neal_.

"Get on the ground!" he ordered the thug. "Now!" He handed off his cuffs to Jones and as soon as he heard the bracelet's click, he asked. "You got him?"

He barely waited for the response before he was running in the direction the thug had come from. A wooden fence blocked much of his view, but once he was past it, all of his fears were confirmed.

Neal was at the bottom of the pool, looking frightfully pale and still beneath the blue-green chlorinated waters. He jumped down into the water, wanting to cry at the irony. It was only five feet deep. He simply would not allow Neal to drown in five feet of water.

He dragged his friend up above the water, struggling to get his limp water-logged form to the side. He was so much heavier than he looked.

Quickly rolling him up onto the cement pool side, Peter climbed out of the water and pushed Neal's mass of hair back out of his face. There was an ugly gash along the side of his temple where Steve had likely hit him. It oozed red tinged liquid down the side of his unnaturally pale face.

Peter fought down his own anger and fear as he tried to remember his first aid training. _The ABCs … or was it just …?_ He placed his head down near Neal's as he tried to assess his breathing. There was nothing.

Peter didn't waste another moment, he went through the motions of what he'd been taught. Tilting Neal's head back to open his airway, he breathed twice for his friend. Even beneath the weight of the bullet proof vest, he saw his chest rise and fall.

He leaned in to find the pulse point at Neal's neck. Almost immediately, Neal's body jerked as he began coughing.

Peter almost laughed with relief as he gently rolled Neal onto his side. He continued to stick close as the younger man tried to expel the excess fluid that had invaded his lungs. Neal curled up slightly, probably seeking warmth and also to aid with the violent coughs.

"You're okay," Peter assured him, gently rubbing his shoulder. It was all he could offer at the moment, but the sounds of the approaching ambulance were growing louder. Peter suddenly felt exhausted. "You're going to be fine."

"Peter," Neal managed to whisper as his coughing slowed. "Knew you would find me."

"It's what I do."

"I think … know … where the files are," Neal continued.

Peter's brows rose to the vicinity of his hair line. "How's that?" He looked up and grinned at Jones as he stepped through into the fenced in area.

"Does Stanley have any reproductions in his home or office of any of Monet's Water Lilies?"

Peter frowned, then his grin widened as he made the connection. "Quite possibly – he did seem to have a thing for art. You think the files are hidden there, don't you?"

Neal closed his eyes and nodded once. He looked worse than Peter felt. Skin that had been just pale was starting toward a sickly green.

"Neal?" Peter was poised to put some distance between the two of them. "How you feeling?"

"Blue skies, Peter." Neal rolled away and promptly lost his breakfast.


End file.
